Episode Two: Fear
by Wolfman1
Summary: Helena moves in, but an enemy is not far behind. ***Now that my life has returned to relative normalcy, the final three chapters are up.***
1. Author's Note

**Author's note:**

****

            This is the second "episode" of my project. If you haven't read the first episode, _Birds of a Feather, you may want to before reading this. _

            In case you don't want to go back, my project is simply this: I'm writing a series of episodes as if I'd been asked to revamp the _Birds of Prey television show to be seen on a new network. Some things will be inspired by the recently canceled show, but most of it will center more on the comic book continuity without having to rely heavily on either one._

            For Helena fans, this episode, like the one before and after, will be centered on her even though she isn't prominently featured. Her role will increase dramatically in the fourth episode and (if I've got the plotting figured right) the other secret of her parentage will become clear in a two-parter, in episodes five and six.

            Feel free to post reviews. If you don't like it, please tell me why so I might be able to improve on it in the future.

Thanks for reading,

            Wolfman


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

            The main spider was large, its body measuring in at almost six feet. It swayed side to side slightly, its legs constantly shifting to balance its weight. Eyes the size of basketballs drank in the woman on the floor. Its hairy fangs waved in the air, fluid dripping off of them in anticipation of a satisfying meal. Thousands of tiny spiders hovered around the big one, crawling on its legs and over its body and taking up almost the entire space of the room. 

            Lynn Bradley hated spiders. She had been bitten by one as a child and it had almost killed her. Since then, one of her greatest fears had been being bitten again. Even tiny garden spiders would send her into hysterics. So far, none of the spiders in the room had gotten close to her. They would move to within a couple of feet before backing off, but they were steadily moving closer.

            "Don't let them get me," she pleaded. Tears ran down her face and her throat was tight with terror but she managed to speak between gasps. "I'll tell you anything you want to know, just don't let them get me."

            A tall man stood in the middle of the room, next to the giant spider. He was at least six foot six and rail thin. His face was gaunt, the skin tight against his skull and he wore dark glasses, the round lenses giving off no reflection at all. He was wearing an old fashioned coat tails and bow tie but the entire outfit was a uniform dirty-brown color. In his hands he held a large gun with an eighteen inch barrel that was almost two inches in diameter. A tube ran from the butt of the gun to an odd-looking back pack he wore. Tiny spiders ran playfully over his shoes.

             "I said I would keep them from you and I have," the man said. His voice was soft, distant. He spoke to her as if she were a child he was trying to impart some great wisdom to. "But you need to help me. I need to know where the girl is. Where is Helena Kanly?"

            "I've already told you I don't know." She choked back more sobs. She had to rush through her word in order to get them all out. "You'll have to ask my supervisor about that. I don't have that kind of information. I only placed her the first time. She was moved after a couple of days and I don't know where they took her."

            "And your supervisor would be Mr. Francis?"

            "Yes! He would know. He has access to all the records." The circle of spiders was growing slowly, but steadily, closer.

            "Unfortunately, Mr. Francis is on longer with us. It seems he couldn't find any of the information we seek. It was either removed or misplaced. I believe it to be the former. He gave us your name before dashing out in front of a car. He seemed to believe a snake was after him."

            "I don't know anything else," Lynn said. One little spider broke rank and scurried across the tip of her shoe before returning to its siblings. Lynn let out a screech and pulled her knees in even tighter, burying her head in-between them. "I don't know anything else," she repeated.

            "I beg to differ," the man stated. "You know where you took her originally. You know the family's name and where they live. Would you care to share that information with me?"

            "Yes!" she said. "Anything! Their names are the Barbers. Nick and Laura Barber. They live outside the city, in the South Gotham district. I can give you their address."

            "Thank you," he said, writing down what she said. "You've been most helpful." He lifted the strange looking gun and pointed it at her. "Just a helpful suggestion before you go. Most spiders are not fond of water, say, like out there." He nodded his head toward the large living room window. Gotham Harbor could plainly be seen, the bridge spanning it winking with reflective sunlight. He squeezed the gun's trigger and with a whistle of compressed air, a thick hazy mist enveloped her. She coughed twice and when she opened eyes, they were upon her.

            Lynn jumped up, shrieking, slapping at her legs and stomping her feet trying to squash as many of them as she could but for every one she killed, three more crawled to replace them. She could feel them running up her pants leg, biting her legs. The big one took a step forward and she ran. Outside the apartment building, she could see the safety of the harbor beckoning her. She ran towards the bridge, still screaming, with the spiders trailing behind her.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two    **

            Barbara Gordon, known throughout the cyber-world as the Oracle, tightened the sheets on the bed and tucked them under the mattress. She pulled the comforter up and smoothed it down on one side before rolling her wheelchair to the other side and repeating the process. Then she picked up two pillows, fluffed them and set them at the head of the bed.

            "I could do that for you, Miss Barbara, if you'd like." 

            Barbara looked at the man standing in the doorway. Dressed in a black coat and tie, Alfred Pennyworth looked every bit the butler he was. She'd told him more than once over the last few days to relax, that he was simply a transplant from Wayne Manor staying with her until his employer, Bruce Wayne, the Batman, returned from his mysterious mission. He was Bruce's butler, not hers, and he should be able to enjoy himself more. 

            "Nonsense," Alfred would tell her whenever she brought it up. "I was never Master Bruce's butler any more than you're a web-designer. We all have our parts to play in this mixed-up drama and I'm perfectly happy with my particular role. Whether I play it here or at the manor makes no difference." 

            She finally gave up trying to convince him otherwise, but she still insisted on doing as much for herself as she could get away with.

            "Thanks, Alfred, but I think I've got it covered here. I need to do what I can to get everything ready for her arrival so I don't have to actually think about her arrival."

            "Understood, Miss. I'll be upstairs if you need anything." He turned to leave, but Barbara stopped him.

            "Should I be doing this," she asked. "I have no idea who this girl is or what she's like. Absolutely none. I just find out I was named her guardian," she pointed a finger at him, "and I know that was Bruce's doing and not Selina's. I don't know why he's pushing this on me, but if he was here I'd have a thing or two to say to him."

            "I dare say you probably would," Alfred said. "Perhaps Master Bruce simply thought it was best for the girl to be with someone who would understand something of what she was going through and could help her develop her powers in such-"

            "You mean teach her how to fight the good fight?" Barbara interrupted him. "I don't need a sidekick, Alfred, and neither does Dinah. Training a bunch of kids to go hopping along the rooftops was his shtick. He's the one who got off on it. I'm not trying to fill that particular void and I resent the insinuation that I should."

            "At 16, I'd hardly call Miss Helena a kid," Alfred said and laughed as only one with a clipped British accent could. The look from Barbara didn't stop the laugh, but he did suppress it more. He sat on the bed beside her and in a rare display of affection, took her hand in his. "Miss Barbara, you and I both know you were very different from any of the others Master Bruce trained. Not only were you the only young lady he ever took under his wing, you had the singular distinction of being the only one who came there with an open heart. 

            "Like master Bruce himself, all the other who fought along side him started with the weight of vengeance on their shoulders. Master Dick eventually overcame that obsession, but you started out with one goal in mind: helping people. 

            "Miss Helena is going to need all the help she can get, whether she knows it or not. She doesn't need the type of help Oracle can provide but the type of help from someone who has seen and experienced tragedy and come out the better for it. We all know teenagers are not the most balanced creatures to begin with. That, on top of having to deal with her Meta-Human talents and having her only know relative killed in such a manner, will most likely create needs that most people will not understand, let alone help her with.

            "But you can. And helping people is not only what you do, it's what you're best at."

            Barbara smiled and met the eyes of the older man. "Thank you," she said, then added, "Smooth talker." It was times like this that made her realize that Alfred was more than a simple butler and keeper of secrets. He was the glue that held them all together: her, Bruce, Dick. All of them. He was their voice of sanity in the most insane of worlds. 

            Barbara wheeled herself into the hallway and pressed the hidden pressure switch on the wall. A panel slid open to reveal an elevator. She and Alfred got in and she hit the switch that would take them up two floors, past the custom gymnasium and workout space, to the clock tower loft where she had housed the communication center she used as Oracle. 

            "Does it ever bother you that you're right all the time?" Barbara asked the butler.

            "We all have our cross to bear, Miss Barbara," Alfred said, smiling.

            The elevator door slid shut.


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

****

            Dinah Lance, also known as the Black Canary, looked over the top of her newspaper when she heard the elevator door opening. She was sitting at a table in the open area of the loft that looked out over the command center. She wore black stretch pants and an oversized sweatshirt with a bull's eye pattern emblazoned across the front. With her blonde hair mussed up and a fresh cup of coffee in front of her, it was obvious she hadn't been up for long.

            "Good morning, Miss Dinah," Alfred said as he entered the room. "Would you care for a bit of breakfast, or perhaps," he looked at the timepiece hooked to his vest by a gold fob, "lunch?"

            "No, thanks, good looking," she replied. "I think coffee will do me right now."

            "Very good," he said and walked down the hall where the kitchen, and his stateroom, was located.

            Dinah looked at Barbara and waved the paper in the air. 

            "Have you seen this yet," she asked the red-head.

            "No," Barbara said, riding the lift that would take her to the upper area. "Is there anything interesting I need to see?"

            "Just this," Dinah said, holding the paper for Barbara to see. Across the front page, in large bold type, the headline read: Black Raven Stops Robbery Attempt. Barbara covered her mouth with her hand in order to hide he grin. "The reporter was at the bank when the whole thing went down. Why can't they get it right? I even spelled my name for him. What is it with the people in this town? Do you have to have the word "bat" in front of your name to be taken seriously around here?"

            "Actually, yes," Barbara said. She'd gotten her own cup of coffee and set it next to Dinah's on the table. "I wrote that unwritten rule the first time someone referred to me as Robin."

            "Please. It'd be kind of hard to mistake you for a twelve-year-old boy."

            "Not back then, it wasn't." She looked at her chest. "These didn't show up until much later."

            Dinah stretched and laughed. "Well, I need to get ready to make an appearance at the bar. I haven't shown up in over a week. If I don't pop my head it, God only knows what Gibson's going to do with the drink menu this time. Last time I was gone this long was when he introduced that Everclear and lemonade drink. It took forever to get anyone to come back after that."

              "I know. I tried one," Barbara said. "Biggest mistake I ever made. I was sick for two days."

            "On that note," Dinah said, and stood up. Then she turned her attention back to the paper on the table. "There's something else you might want to look into." She pointed out an article on the second page. "Looks like another employee of the Gotham Department of Youth Services committed suicide yesterday. That's two in three days. It might be something we want to look into."

            "I'll pull up the police reports and see what they have to say."

            "You do that," Dinah said, patting Barbara's shoulder. "I have a wig to go fight with." In her "secret identity", Dinah wore a black wig and glasses to disguise herself.

            Barbara sipped her coffee and reread the article. Just as with the first case, eyewitnesses reported the woman running down the street, screaming that something was after her before jumping to her death from the Gotham Harbor Bridge.

            Yes, this was definitely something to look into.


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

            He saw the yellowish-gray gas exit the gun in a wave. It was thick; cutting off his air supply as in engulfed his head. He coughed then breathed deep, trying to find the rush of cool oxygen and only finding more gas. He panicked and began to hyperventilate, pulling more of the gelatinous mist into his nose and mouth. Finally it thinned. His nose tingled. His eyes were watery and irritated. He blinked them clear to find the strange looking man standing calmly in front of him.

            "Tell me, Sir," the tall man said, "What is it you fear?"

            "My God," Nick Barber said. The water in his living room was ankle deep and rising. It was pooling around his legs and rising slowly but steadily. "Where did all this water come from? Did a pipe burst?"

            The tall man looked back at another man who was standing in the foyer holding a strange mask over his face. "He either doesn't have flood insurance or he's afraid of drowning." The man with the mask shrugged as if to say 'what the hell do I care'. The tall man turned back to Nick and said, "You have information I need."

            "What information," Nick asked. The water had risen to the man's calves. Soon it would lap over the edge of the couch. He heard whimpering beside him and suddenly remembered his wife, Laura. He turned to her. She was staring at him, shaking her head side to side.

            "No, no, no," she said. "What's wrong with you? When did you get sick?"

            "Disease," the tall man said. "Always a fun topic. Now let's get down to business. Where is the girl? Where did they take her?"

            Nick wanted to jump up, tell these men to leave his house before he called the police. Better yet, kick their asses and toss them out himself. But he was afraid to move, afraid if he moved the water would rise faster and he wouldn't be able to get out in time. Afraid of…

            Nick closed his eyes and shook his head hard. Thirty years in the Special Forces had taught him a thing or two about brainwashing. He thought about what this guy was doing to Laura and it pissed him off. Anger, he knew, could often override fear. His head was clearing. The water started to take on a shimmering, mystical quality. He knew it wasn't real, but he still couldn't move.

            "Get out of my house," he said through clenched teeth. "Whatever you want, you're not going to get it here." 

            "Fascinating," the tall man said. "You're already shaking off the affects of the gas. You must be extremely strong willed. I wish I had time to study you, find out how much it would take to make you succumb fully, but alas, I don't have the time. I've been given a strict timetable and it's quickly running out. Now, Sir, I'll ask you once again, where is the girl, Helena?"

            "Go to hell," Nick spat. 

            The tall man smiled.

            "As much as I hate giving the police a clear-cut murder to investigate, I'm afraid you're leaving me no choice." The tall man pulled a pistol and pointed it at Laura. Nick saw that she'd passed out. "Where is the girl?"

            "I don't know," Nick said, fear creeping back into his voice. "All I know is Detective Reece came by to get her. He said he was taking her to a new foster home. He didn't tell us where. Don't hurt her. That's all I know."

            "Detective Reece. Very good, Mr. Barber."

            Suddenly, Nick sprang from the couch. The tall man stumbled backwards a few steps. The man with the mask ran forward to intercept him, but the tall man was faster. He raised his gas gun and pulled the trigger. The barrel was only a few inches from Nick's face and the escaping cloud was almost solid when it hit him. He staggered backwards, gasping for breath. The tall man stood over him and released a second burst. Then a third and a forth. He saw the look of fear and anger on the tall man's face through the haze, but he couldn't get up, couldn't breathe. His heart was beating faster.

            Before he lost consciousness, he saw the tall man point the large barreled gun at his wife on the couch.  


	6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five 

****

            Commissioner James Gordon stood at the base of the Gotham Clock Tower with Helena Kanly, a slender, dark-haired girl of sixteen. She had on a backpack and carried a suitcase in each hand. He was balancing two legal sized boxes in his arms. A revolving door was in front of them, flanked on either side by a set of standard glass doors, leading into the main lobby. On one side of the main entrance was a bar called the Dark Horse and on the other was a bookstore, the Read Alert. 

            "This is it," he said, lifting his eyes skyward. "My daughter lives up there, on the top floor." 

            Helena followed his gaze. The building towered over the surrounding buildings by at least four stories. 

            "I didn't know anyone lived here," she said. He voice was soft, cautious. "I thought there were only businesses here."

            "As far as I know, Barbara is the only full time resident. Other than the businesses on the ground level, most of the building is owned by WayneTech. After her accident, Barbara started working with computers full-time. It was always a hobby of hers but she helped redesign the city's technological infrastructure and now runs most of WayneTech's networking services from her apartment. I wish she got out of the house more often, but I have to admit she's got a hell of a view from up there."

            He led her to the elevators and, after setting down the boxes, produced a white piece of plastic the size of a credit card. On the panel inside the elevator door there was a blank button above the standard floor buttons. He waved the card in front of it and it turned green. The elevator doors closed and it started upward.

            "Electronic key," he said. "She'll give you one too. It's the only way to trigger the elevator to go to the top floor."

            Helena nodded then cast her eyes downward. They rode the rest of the way in silence while Helena's fingers danced nervously with the hem of her shirt. Gordon thought about the wounds suffered by Blockbuster, the man who had killed Helena's mother, and felt an involuntary shiver at what lay behind those delicately manicured nails. In a fit of blind rage, Helena had ripped Blockbuster up, tearing his skin to the bone in some places.

            A soft ding told them they'd reached their destination. The doors opened on a small hallway. The only apartment door on this floor stood open. Barbara held it until they got inside, and then shut it behind them. 

            "If you want to, go ahead and put your things in the first bedroom," Barbara said after greeting them. "It's made up and ready to go. I've got some snacks made in the kitchen for us. Meet me in there and we'll talk."

            Gordon led Helena into the room and placed the boxes on the bed.

            "Why don't you go ahead and unpack these boxes so I can take them back with me," he told her. "I need to speak with Barbara for a moment and then I'll leave you two ladies alone."

            Helena just nodded and opened the first box. Gordon walked to the kitchen where his daughter was sitting at the table behind her laptop. A plate full of small pastries and cookies was on the table with three cans or soda. 

            "I just wanted to give you a heads up," he said. "Helena already knows her mother was Catwoman."

            Barbara looked surprised. "Really?"

            "Apparently, Selina wasn't all that secretive about it, at least not with Helena. She even told Helena that one day someone might come gunning for her out of revenge and taught Helena self-defense tactics, just in case."

            "Looks like it paid off."

            "For Helena, at least. Just wanted to forewarn you in case the conversation ever headed in that direction, you could decide how much you wanted to tell her of your former life." He picked up one of the pastries and put it in his mouth. "Mmm. That's good. Reminds me of one of those things Bruce Wayne's butler used to always serve."

            "You don't say," Barbara said, smiling. 

            Helena walked in with the two empty boxes. Gordon took them and said, "You ladies behave yourselves. I've got to get back to work. If you need anything, call me."

            "Thanks, dad," Barbara said and shut the door behind him when he left.  


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

****

            Detective Jessi Reece tapped the end of his pencil rapidly on the desk. Something about the case just didn't add up. Two employees at the Department of Youth Services, with only a rudimentary connection to each other, were dead within a day of each other in a part of town where neither of them lived. He knew the second one, Lynn Bradley, from the Kanly case. He briefly wondered if the girl, Helena, was the connection, but it didn't make sense. The man who was killed was only Bradley's supervisor. He ran the department but had no dealings with the actual cases themselves. 

            He picked up the field reports again and was about to start rereading them when Tony Donovan, a beat officer at the station, poked his head into Reece's cubical.

            "Did you hear about that couple?" Tony asked.

            "Couple of what?" Reece replied without looking up. 

            "The couple who was watching that girl for you and the Commissioner."

            "The Barbers?" Reece asked. Suddenly his full attention was focused on the other detective.

            "Yeah, that's them. The Barbers. Did you hear what happened?"

            "Obviously not," Reece said, getting irritated. "Do I get three guesses or are you just going to tell me?"

            "They were found dead a couple of hours ago. One of their foster kids found them. The medical examiner's out there now. I'm surprised you haven't heard by now."

            Reece glanced from the officer to the files in his hands. The girl was the key. It was too big a coincidence otherwise. He stood and brushed past Donovan, asking, "Is the Commissioner in his office?" He didn't wait for an answer. He took the stairs two at a time and almost knocked over the dispatch secretary on his way past. 

            Beside the receptionist's desk, Gordon's office door was open. Gordon was there hanging up his coat, two empty boxes on the floor beside the coat rack. Ignoring the receptionist, Reece stepped into Gordon's office and said, "You may need to put your coat back on."

            "Is there a problem?" Gordon asked.

            "There might be," Reece replied, handing over the files. "I think our little cat girl is the subject of another killer." He waited until Gordon scanned the files. "The Barbers were found dead a while ago."

            Gordon snapped the files shut and got his coat. "Let's go," he said.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

            Black Canary rubbed at a spot on her temple. She always used a spot of spirit gum to hold her wig in place and she could still feel a bit of residue that didn't want to come off. She'd barely had her disguise on, and was ready to head to the ground floor, when the Bat-Signal alarm had gone off. A quick change and short ride later, she was standing on the roof of the police station still trying to remove that last bit of adhesive. 

            Commissioner Gordon was looking away from her, gazing out over downtown Gotham as the twilight began it daily approach. "The final analysis won't come in until the autopsy is completed," he said, "But the preliminary reports indicate the Barbers died of heart attacks brought on by fear. Dr. Rosen, the coroner, reported seeing extreme decolonization and bruising on their chests indicating a massive hemorrhaging, probably of the heart. He's seen enough of Crane's victims over the years to recognize the signs by now."

            "So you're certain the Scarecrow is behind this," she said. She almost whooped with delight as she got her fingernail under the spirit gum and managed to peel it away in one piece like dead skin.

            "I have no reason to doubt it," Gordon said, turning around. "We won't have the concrete evidence we need until Dr. Rosen is done, but if it's not Crane, someone's pulling a fantastic copy cat job." He waved some folders in the air. "Four people dead. Four people in a direct pattern pointing at Helena Kanly. He's tracking her. I don't know what he would want with her, but she seems to be hot property right now. I need him stopped before…"

            "Before?" Canary asked.

            "Before he finds out where she is."

            "And where is she?" Canary asked, playing dumb. Nothing like dropping into a stereotype, she laughed to herself.

            "That's not important right now. All you need to know is that she's safe."

            "Who would be next on his list?"

            "I've been thinking about that. I think Detective Reece would be his next target. He killed Darren Francis to find out which social worker had been assigned to Helena's case. Then he killed her to find out where Helena had originally been taken. Then he kills the couple who housed her for a couple of days. The next person in line would be Reece because he picked her up from the Barber's and brought her to me. I'm the only one who knows where she is right now."

            "Where is Reece?"

            "Downstairs. I'll get him up here." Gordon turned his back to her, pacing as he unclipped a two-way radio from his belt. Canary tapped her throat mike and whispered, "Oracle, are you there?" She was met by silence. Where was she?

            "Where did he go?" She focused back on the angry tone creeping into Gordon's voice. He'd stopped pacing and was staring at the radio like it had done something wrong.

            "He got a call about twenty minutes ago," a voice came back. "Said he was heading to Harbor Side to check on a lead."

            "Radio him," Gordon said. "Tell him wherever he is to stay put. Call any patrol cars in the area to be on the lookout for him and to give him any help he need except for getting to where he was going." He looked over his glasses at Canary and pointed over his shoulder towards the harbor. She nodded that she understood and headed for the edge of the roof. She bounced down the fire escape to where she'd parked her bike. As she was pulling out of the alley, her com crackled.

            "Canary? I'm here."

            "It's about damn time. Where have you been?"

            "I had to wait until Helena was taking a shower. I told her I was going out to get some things so I could use the main elevator to get up here. That excuse is going to wear thin after a while, so I'm going to-"

            "Oracle, we're on the move," Canary said, interrupting her. "It looks like the Scarecrow is on Helena's trail and his next target is Detective Reece. It looks like Reece might be headed into a trap. Such good little prey." 

            "I've got the reports up now. It does appear to be Crane's style. But what would he want with Helena?"

            "Who knows? Who cares?" Canary said. "I need to know what I'm up against. What am I headed in to?" She could hear the clacking of the keyboard in the background.

            "Jonathan Crane, a.k.a. the Scarecrow," Oracle said, reading off the monitor. "Was a scientist…studied fear…lost wife…here we go. Primarily uses a custom gas mixture that is absorbed through the sinus walls and through the blood barrier membrane where it directly affects the brain. The gas is a mixture of stimulants and hallucinogens mixed with unique particles crated by Crane. 

"After absorption, the subject quickly becomes disoriented and almost paralyzed with fear. They also become highly susceptible to suggestion. Their minds begin to visualize their worst fears. With a big enough dose, the subject's heart can beat so fast that it, for all intents and purposes, will rupture.  

            "Crane occasionally uses a powder form of the gas that can de absorbed through the skin. This, however, requires a marriage of particles and bacteria, a process that takes up to several weeks. Because of this, he usually relies on the gas form when committing his crimes."

            "Sounds like a fun date," Canary said. "I'm assuming this isn't the kind of gas you can get rid of with a can of Lysol." 

            "No," Oracle said. There was a silence before she said, "Canary, we've got to stop him. If he gets to Reece, his next target will be-"

            "I know," Canary said. The motorcycle accelerated. "I know."


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

****

            Beside him, Reece's radio crackled. Occasionally, a voice interrupted the static calling his name, asking for him to answer, but he ignored it. 

It was dark where he was, dark and smoky. He could see small shafts of light breaking through from far away and their glow gave a muted, ethereal quality to the air, but it wasn't enough to make out any details of his surroundings. Even without the detail, however, he knew where he was. He was buried under the rubble of a building, buried alive. Again.

"Detective Reece?" a voice asked. The voice was closer, clearer then the voices from the radio. His eyes darted back and forth but he could see nothing. He tried to say something but the dust got caught in his throat. The voice called his name a second time.

"Maybe you hit him to hard with that stuff," another voice said.

"Quiet!" the first voice snapped. "It's bad enough she sent you to watch over me like I was some kind of child, but I don't have to put up with your prattling. If I need someone to be grand marshal of the imbecile parade, I'll call you. Otherwise, keep quiet."

"I was just saying that maybe you-hey! Don't point that at me! If anything happens to me-"

"Your mommy might hurt me. Yes, I know. However, my patience is finite. If you continue to speak, I may just take that chance. It appears our dear detective suffers form a very real phobia, not just underlying irrational one. From the way his eyes refuse to focus, I assume he is somewhere dark. Perhaps he suffers from nyctophobia or claustrophobia, or perhaps even taphephobia."

"What are those?"

"Look it up." 

Something began to snap in front of him, close to his face, and Reece focused on the sound. 

"Detective," the voice came again, "I realize you're somewhere you don't wish to be. I can help you get out but you have to give me some information first."

"Anything," Reece managed to choke. "Anything. Just get me out of here."

"Excellent. I'm glad to see we're on the same page. Where is the girl, Helena Kanly?"

"Don't know," Reece gasped. It was getting harder to breath. He could hear his heart pounding. "Took her to Gordon. Only Gordon knows where she is."

"Commissioner James Gordon?"

"Yes."

"Now I believe we're getting somewhere." The voice turned away from him. "You can tell her that I'll have the girl soon." It turned back to him. "Now, Detective Reece, I can help you with our problem. And I have a suggestion on how you can avoid it in the future…"


	10. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

Black Canary walked her motorcycle on the sidewalk, parking it beside an illegally parked beige Ford. The inside of the car was clean, save for a fast food bag on the front floorboard.

"Oracle," Canary said, "I found Reece's car. He's parked in front of the Aparo Suites Inn."

"That's close to where the other deaths took place," Oracle replied. 

"I'm going it to take a look around and ask some questions," Canary said. "Maybe someone's noticed something – wait."

In the dim alley across the street, she could see a figure climbing up the fire escape of one of the taller buildings. She pulled a pair of small binoculars from the bike's front pouch and trained them on the figure. 

"Oracle, I found him. He looks like he's headed to the roof of one of the other buildings. I'm going after him."

Canary sprinted across the street and started up the first set of steps on the fire escape. Reece was already well above her, moving at a steady pace. She hurried upwards, yelling, "Reece! Stop!" but he either didn't hear her or was just flat ignoring her. They were on the last story before the roof by the time she caught up to him. She called to him again but he still wouldn't acknowledge her.  

"Got to get on top. Get over the city. Stay over the city," Reece was muttering under his breath. He was on the roof and headed to the front of the building when she grabbed his arm and turned him around. His fist caught her off-guard as it knocked her in the side of the head and she stumbled back a couple of steps. 

"Can't be under," he said to her, yet not to anyone. "Got to stay above the city."

"What's going on?" Oracle asked.

"He's incoherent," Canary said. "Crane must have gotten to him. I think he's planning to jump."

"If that's the case, you need to incapacitate him. The effects will wear off but it takes a couple of hours."

"Great. I get to punch out a cop. That should win me a lot of brownie points."

Canary ran forward and grabbed Reece's arm again, ducking as he took another swing. She hit him in the stomach. He doubled over, stumbled and fell. Mumbling, he started to get back up. She grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him to a ladder set outside the inner stairwell room, which jutted up from the center of the roof. She hadn't gotten him very far before he was able to wriggle out of her grasp and stand. 

"Come on, Reece; do us both a favor and stay down."

"Stay over the city," he said. "Can't be underneath."

"You need help. I can help you but you've got to focus."

He suddenly bolted to the left. She ran after him and dove, catching him by his ankles. He hit the rooftop hard. He started kicking his feet and caught her under the chin. She bit her tongue and tasted blood inside her mouth. She spit it out and managed to get to her feet just before he did.

"That's enough," Canary said and hit him with a hard right cross as he was lifting his head. It knocked him off his feet and onto his back. He moaned for a moment then his body went slack. She dragged him back over to the ladder and handcuffed him to it with his own handcuffs. She took the keys and a piece of paper from his pocket. She also noticed his shoulder holster was empty. 

"Oracle, Reece is down. You may need to get someone up here to get him. If he comes to, he's liable to gnaw his arm off to get away."

"Where are you going?" Oracle asked.

"According to this paper I found, across the street. Aparo Suites, room 802," Canary replied, reading the note she'd pulled from Reece's pocket. "I'm betting that's where he was going. If we're lucky, that's where Crane is."

            "Be careful."

            A few moments later, Black Canary walked into the lobby of the Aparo Suites Inn. It was decorated in tasteless Egyptian, pyramids in the center fountain and gold leaf hieroglyphics edging the tables and front desk. Canary pushed past a couple waiting to check in and grabbed the clerk's wrist.

            "Madame, please," the stick-like clerk said, "I shall be with you in a moment."

            "How many rooms on the eighth floor?" she asked, ignoring his protest.

            "There are two apartment suites on the eighth floor, but only one is currently occupied," he answered, slightly ruffled. When she turned to head for the elevator, he asked, "Shall I call up and announce you?" 

            "I wouldn't advise it, Slick."

            Instead of taking the elevator, she darted up the stairs. They opened onto the eighth floor hall, midway in between two golden doors. She walked up to room 802 and knocked.

            "Who is it?" a raspy voice called through the door.

            "Housekeeping," she said loudly. "I was told to deliver some fresh towels to your room."

            "We didn't ask for any-" the voice was saying as it turned the knob. As soon as she heard the latch click, Canary kicked. The door flew open, stopping only to slam into the man's face. He stumbled backwards, tripping on his own feet and landing hard on his back. Canary ran in, eyes darting back and forth to take in the entire scene.

            The eating area looked like the classic monster movie lab; vats, Bunsen burners, beakers and cork-screwing tubes cluttered the tiny area. To kitchen stood to the side of the eating area and it too was littered with bottles and jars, filled with powders and liquids. Jonathan Crane stood to one side of a long table, filling a cylinder with a yellowish liquid. The guy on the floor moaned and tried to sit up but Canary kicked him on the side of the head. He went back down and laid still.

            "You!" she said, pointing at Crane. He looked at her calmly. "You've done enough damage for one week. We can do this the hard way or the easy way, your choice. Personally, I'm leaning in favor of hard."

            "Indeed," Crane said, "I may be forced to agree with you."

            Canary ran a few steps towards him but stopped when she was only a few feet away from him. Crane had picked up a strange looking gun from the table behind him and was pointing it at her head. She bent her knees and dropped into a fighting crouch. Before she could launch herself in any direction, he shot her full in the face. As the gas hit her, she heard him say, "Now let's see what you fear."


	11. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

****

            The sound of the compressed air came across the com-unit clearly, as did the Black Canary's hacking cough.

            "Dinah!" Barbara said. "Listen to my voice. Tune Crane out. Whatever he says, ignore it. Just listen to me." Barbara hoped she was getting through to her. Dinah sounded like she was coughing up a lung. "Come on, Dinah. Give me some sign that you're hearing me."

            Barbara yelled for Alfred and turned her attention back to the communication station. Mentally she tried to remember how long the sound of gas being released had lasted and tried to calculate how much gas Canary had been hit with. 

            "Come on, Dinah," she pleaded. "Let me know something."

            Alfred came up behind her and she turned to look at him. 

            "We need to get the car ready. Dinah found Crane at the Aparo Suites Inn, but he ambushed her. If we hurry, we might be able-"

            "I'm afraid, Miss Barbara," Alfred said, cutting her off, "That we have a bit of a problem to contend with ourselves."

            Barbara turned and followed his eyes to the first story landing, where Helena stood in front of the open elevator door. Her shoulders were arched forward and her hands were out by her side in an obvious attack stance. Although she couldn't see them, from the look on the girl's face, Barbara was sure the deadly talons were unsheathed. 

            "Not now," Barbara said under her breath.

            Helena flexed her hands and spat up at them, "Who the hell are you people?"


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven **

****

            "Fear this, pencil neck!"

            Black Canary caught the Scarecrow just to the side of his nose with her fist. He staggered backwards, blood spurting from his left nostril. The gun flew from his hand, snapping taut the tube that tethered it to tank on Crane's back. The gun and Crane hit the floor at almost the same time.

            "But how?" Crane asked, his words muffled by the hand over his mouth and nose. Blood was seeping past it and running down his chin.

            "Nose plugs," Canary told him. She was wheezing a bit, still trying to clear the thick gas from her lungs. Briefly she wondered if the lightheadedness she was feeling was due to hyperventilation or if the gas had secondary properties that could be absorbed simply by breathing it in. No matter, she thought. If he's unconscious he can't give any suggestions and in a few seconds, that just where he'd be.

            A shot rang out and a bullet ate into the wall near her.

            Canary turned to see the henchman struggling to rise, his gun outstretched in front of him. He still looked dazed, but no telling how long that would last. She jumped behind the table as another shot past by her. Throwing her shoulder under the table ledge, she pushed upward and flipped the table on its end. A ten gallon vat, half full of liquid, slid off the table and hit the floor. The liquid spread quickly across the waxed, hardwood surface. Test tubes, beakers and other glassware shattered as they landed. Crane was reaching forward with his non-bloodied hand, whimpering like a wounded puppy, as if trying to use telepathy to keep any more of his equipment from being destroyed. A Bunsen burner, still lit, landed on the expanding pool, igniting it.

            "Noooo," Crane wailed.

            Two more shots bit into the thick wood of the table.

            "That's four," Canary said to herself. "How many shots you got?"

            She crawled behind the table to the end furthest from the fire. From her jacket pocket she pulled two Canary Cries, palm sized metal disks, cut to produce a high-pitched screech when flying through the air. She peeked around the side of the table to pinpoint where the gunman was and was almost rewarded with a bullet. He was a professional; that much was clear. He knelt on one knee, the gun in front of him and both hands steadying the barrel. As soon as she popped her head up, he would be ready to fire.

            Canary crab-walked back to the other side of the table, behind the fire. She flung the disk at the wall behind her where it ricocheted over the upended table towards the man's general position, its screech cutting through the air. When he fired a shot at the projectile, she sprang up and spun the second one at him. He was turned slightly away from her and didn't have time to react before the disk hit him above the ear. It wasn't much, but it was enough to knock him off balance.

            Canary vaulted over the table, twisting around the dancing flames, and body slammed the thug. He swung at her with the butt of the gun, grazing her temple. She grabbed his wrist in both of her hands, twisting to keep the barrel of the gun pointed away from her, and brought her elbow up under his chin. His teeth clamped down hard and he issued a muffled scream. She twisted again, turning the man's wrist at an unnatural angle. He dropped the gun. 

            "Smart move," she said. She let go of his wrist and balled her fists together, putting all her weight into the punch. For the second time, he lost consciousness. 

            Quickly, Canary stood and surveyed the fire. It wasn't huge but it was spreading quickly. On the other side of the flames, Jonathan Crane was backed into the corner, eyes wide in fear.

            "Now that's funny," she said and ran out into the hall to get the fire extinguisher. The chemical foam made short work of the flames. 

            As she was tying up the two men with cords she'd torn from curtains, the front desk clerk cautiously stuck his head in the door. 

            "I've had complaints," he started but stopped once he completely took in the scene. 

            "Get the police in here," Canary told him. "Tell them these men were responsible for a string of recent murders. Also tell them one of their men is handcuffed on the roof across the street. They need to check with Commissioner Gordon before releasing him." 

            The man disappeared almost instantly.

            Black Canary rubbed at her temple where the gun had grazed her. She could feel a thin trail of wetness and knew she was bleeding. She then reached into her nostrils and pulled out the twin cones of black foam, leftovers from the old days when she possessed the power of a sonic scream. She used to keep these earplugs to hand out to any one she was working with so they wouldn't get caught on the wrong end of her "canary cry". Even though her power was now gone, she never could bring herself to get rid of them.

Not exactly designed for clogging ones sinuses, but they worked.  

"Oracle," she said. "They're all wrapped up." She waited a moment for a reply before repeating, "Oracle, are you there?" Another pause. "Oracle?"

But the com was dead.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

Barbara wheeled her chair to the elevator platform, keeping her movements as steady and non-threatening as she could. The girl's stance and quick, jerky movements showed she was as wound up as she could possibly be; ready to snap at any time.

"Helena, we're friends. We're not going to hurt you. We're here to help."

Helena's eyes darted back and forth between Barbara and Alfred, who was waling down the stairs next to the platform. As the pair reached the main floor, Helena moved to her right to add distance between them. The elevator closed with a sigh.

"Who the hell are you people," she asked again. "What is this place?"

"You're in the top of the clock tower," Barbara said. "It's a communication center. I've been helping the police and others track down the people who killed your mother. We're friends here. We're not going to hurt you."

"Why didn't your dad tell me who you were when he brought me here?"

"He doesn't know I'm involved. Someone else is doing the legwork. In fact, she's out there now trying to track down whoever is after you. You're safe here." 

"So you're like, what, private investigators? Batman?"

"Something like that," Barbara said. "Just calm down and we'll talk. Alfred, can you get us some drinks?"

"Of course," he said and walked slowly towards the kitchen. Helena tensed as he left and Barbara raised her hands, palms out, in a soothing gesture.

"He's just getting some drinks. Just sit down and we'll talk."

Helena relaxed, but not completely. She sat on the edge of the couch, eyes nervously darting to the kitchen door, ready to spring up if anything weird happened. Make that anything weirder. Barbara rolled to the other side of the coffee table and stopped. 

"Better?" Barbara asked. Helena nodded slightly. "Let's start with: How did you find the elevator?"

"My mother always told me to learn my surroundings whenever I was somewhere new. I found the latch in the hallway."

"I keep it dark there so the seams won't show but I guess your eyesight is better than most peoples." The girl nodded again. Alfred came back with a tray and set it between them; a glass of soda for Helena and a cup of coffee for Barbara on a saucer. Helena tensed again but, to Barbara's relief, didn't get up. Barbara picked up her cup and saucer.

"I don't know where to start," she said, taking a sip. Then she noticed the napkin that had been placed on the saucer. In Alfred's flowing script was written, "Perhaps at the beginning. Judiciously edited." When she looked at him, he merely raised his eyebrows at her.

"If you need anything else, I'll be in my room."

Barbara took another sip of coffee and looked at the pretty, dark haired girl. She almost felt pity for her but then she thought about her own life, and Bruce's and Dick's and even Dinah's. Like them, this girl was a fighter. It would take time but she would recover as much as any of them did. Perhaps more.

She started to say something but before she could, the elevator door opened and Black Canary ran into the room, eyes searching, battle ready. Immediately Helena was on her feet, ready again to pounce. Barbara held a hand towards each of them.

"Stop!" she said. She looked at Helena. "She's with us. She helped you out when Blockbuster attacked you." To Dinah she asked, "Did everything go okay?"

"Yeah," Dinah said. "Crane's taken care of. When you didn't answer your com, I thought…"

"I know," Barbara said. "We had a bit of a situation here but it fine now." She gestured to the blood on Canary's forehead. "Are you okay?"

"Bloodied, battered and bruised. Same old, same old. If you have everything under control here, I'm going to get cleaned up and go downstairs. We can debrief later."

"Fine," Barbara said and turned her attention back to Helena, who had sat back down. A little more at ease this time, Barbara noted. "How are you doing?"

            "Still confused," Helena answered. 

            "Let's see what we can do about that." Barbara took a deep breath and looked directly at Helena when she said, "I used to be Batgirl and once your mother saved my life."

            Helena's eyes widened.

            It was going to be a long night.

**End of Episode Two         **


End file.
